


Blue on Blue

by bingsboba



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bottom Sam, Corrupt police, Criminal!Dean, Drugs, Eventual Smut, L.A. Police, M/M, Narc!Sam, Sam and Dean are not related in this story, Top Dean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-11
Updated: 2016-06-21
Packaged: 2018-07-14 12:40:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7171859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bingsboba/pseuds/bingsboba
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam Wesson, a young narc with intelligent eyes and a naïve spirit, meets Dean Smith, a man with a charming facade and a dangerous interior, in a drug bust mission turned into a failure. With no evidence to pin Dean to a crime, Sam is unable to move forward with his first loss in his job. Determined to have the biggest drug bust tied to his name, Sam goes after the con artist, but Dean turns out to be more than Sam can handle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pilot

**Author's Note:**

> I've seen a lot of supernatural au's about Sam and/or Dean being cops and I wanted to try and write one myself. This first chapter is sort of like a pilot and I wanted to see how people would like it. Hope y'all enjoy the story! Thanks for reading :) also more chapters will come.
> 
> *this was going to be 2 separate chapters, but I posted it as 1 because I felt it was too short  
> ** I will add more tags later. I will apply warnings as need be.

In the reflection of the cheap motel mirror stands a tall man man wearing a plaid shirt underneath a brown leather jacket, paired with some worn blue jeans that look like they came from a thrift store. Sam Wesson peers at himself in the mirror, adjusting the wire underneath his clothes and making sure that he looks the part. A familiar sense of nervousness trembles at the tips of his fingers. A quick glance at the watch on his left hand reminds him that it's time to go and meet the man he's been talking with the past couple of days. He remembers Bill saying at the precinct that this bust should be easy. Sam is to meet him outside the motel, bring him in, get the delivery, and bust the guy. But two times before doesn't seem to be enough time to get used to these kind of situations and the husky voice that was on the other end of the phone a moment ago doesn't seem like the kind of guy that does your shady drug deals. Sure, Sam might recognize your typical bum off the street looking to sell some cheap dope at a high price, but he's starting to notice that these kind of games get a little more dangerous with bigger guys supplying a larger load of high quality drugs. 

Sam never lets any kind of fear stop him, though, so he opens the rusty door to his motel room and leaves with confidence to meet the unnamed man, well aware that the rest of the team is in the room next to him, ready to move at a moment's notice.

The cold air that slaps his face contradicts the earlier L.A. sun that burned throughout the day. Nevertheless, Sam sits and waits at a nearby bench, while tugging his jacket closer to his body. He taps his foot repeatedly trying to fight the anxiety wondering why his bust isn't here yet. Again, he glances at his watch. It's 6:58 and the guy said he would be there by 7. Sure enough, the guy's a professional and comes a minute early. 

The wire underneath Sam's clothes makes him feel naked as a black Impala pulls up haphazardly in front of the motel. With the slam of a car door, out comes a man in his late, possibly early thirties, wearing all black and has an undeniably loud presence that can command any room.

With a strange feeling at the back of Sam's throat, he suddenly realizes that this guy is definitely not like the last two street rats he had caught. Drug dealers, especially around these dingy parts of L.A., usually have a chip on their shoulder or haze over their face signaling that they are smoking something louder than a pack of Malboros. This man, though, looks like someone you only saw in movies. He reminds Sam of the charismatic bad cops in detective thrillers that all the attractive actors played. He had a face you could recognize a mile away with golden blonde hair, soft lips, and green eyes that elude to a wiseness way beyond his years.

Sam runs a hand through his long hair as the movie in his head stops playing and the man sits gruffly next to him. As casual as possible, Sam recites the script.

"So do you have the packages we talked about?" 

Green eyes bore into him.

"As long as you have the money, then I still have the coke," the man says with a smirk.

"Yeah, I've got the money."

Sam puts a hand in his right pocket and pulls out the large wad of cash showing it to the blonde man. The man gives a nod and stands up making Sam realize his tall height, then walks back to the black Impala.  
A minute passes and the man comes with a peculiar looking package. He stops and stands in front of Sam, showing him the bag of sugar. 

The smirk that was once on the man's handsome face disappears. He chucks the bag of sugar on the pavement floor with a large thud and leans down brushing his lips against Sam's ear.  
Shivering, Sam hears his cold words.

"I know you're a narc, you stupid bitch."  
Humiliation quickly shoots up Sam's entire body. 

With a low gravelly chuckle to match his husky voice, the man straightens up.

"I mean with hair like that, you had to be a narc."  
Sam is so shocked that he doesn't say a word. His mouth is gaping open like a child who just found out he got his first B on his straight A report card.  
"Name's Dean. Don't worry Bill knows me well," he says walking back to his car.

Sam still sits there with his mouth wide open, a bag of sugar a few feet away from him, and a million "what the hell”s ringing through his head as the car speeds off into the city lights. Everyone in the hotel room next to Sam's comes rushing out. First thing he hears is the many choice slurs that Dennis throws at him.

"God damn kid! Don't you know who the fuck that was! How the hell did you not know who you were talking to?! This is why we don't let patrol boys take any of the narc jobs!" Dennis spits at him.

"Look I'm sorry, it's .. It's, I-its —"

"It's what? Not your fault? You can go fuck yourself, you hear that? You think you got the balls for this shit, but you don't. You might look like a grown ass man, but you ain't, son !" Dennis yells back, grabbing the collar of Sam's shirt. 

Sam winces and readies himself for the blow, but it's doesn't come.

"That's enough! Dennis, calm yourself. Everyone get back in your cars. We'll talk about this at the precinct."

Sam looks over toward the familiar voice and realizes it's Bill and with a sigh, Dennis lets go of his shirt walking away with an angry scowl. 

"Sam, don't get all relaxed now. I'm gonna' talk to you as well when we get back," Bill says pointing at him.

"Yes, sir," Sam replies with a lack of enthusiasm that surprises him.

*  
*  
*  
*

The L.A. Gang and Narcotics Division is hell for cops and criminals alike, but some sort of heaven for Sam. It's a constant reminder of why he chose this life at a ripe age of 23. Instead of weighing down the old hopes and lost dreams of middle aged men, Sam gets lifted up by the thought that he gets to come here everyday and help— no, save people. No matter what Dennis spits at him, that thought alone is enough to carry his doubts.  
So, even though he walks through those doors now with humiliation turning the tops of his ears red, Sam still takes comfort the fact that at everything is for a reason.

Still embarrassed, Sam walks into Bill's office and sits down awkwardly into one of the small chairs. Bill also walks into the room, seating himself in his grand leather arm chair like a principle ready to give the bad report.

"Look Sam, surprisingly, this isn't your fault. We made a mistake."

"Wait, I don't understand."

Bill leans back into his chair and gives a loud sigh. He looks at Sam through his old 70's styled glasses with a regretful gaze. 

"We didn't know that the drug dealer was this particular man. We thought it was gonna' be your regular run of the mill crack head, but instead it turns out it was one of our.... Well... Let's call him our "inside job" man." 

"Sir, I don't get what you mean. Inside job man? It's obvious that the guy was still a criminal. Are you saying he's like some top dog?"

"Well, yes, but he's kinda' different. I know you're new to this and I'd hate to burst your bubble now." 

"Please tell me, sir. I'd like to help, really." 

Sam looks at his boss with some spur of desperation. In return, Sam hopes to get some approval or sense of usefulness. A part of him is tired of looking weak and being the new guy. He doesn't want to be "that damned kid".

Instead he receives another sigh and a troubled laugh from his boss.

"Oh, Sam. You always wanna' help, I know. You're good like that. I don't wanna' get you into this. You're a good kid. You should just step back. Better yet, just not be a narc. If I told you then you'd be stuck in this game for life."

Disappointment spreads over Sam's face like a sad puppy. Bill's words solidifies his greatest fear. He's just that damned kid. He was even thinking that so far, he was doing great. He guesses that everyone just thinks he's crazy for wanting to do this line of work at this age. But, Sam loves proving people wrong so, with determination, Sam picks his self esteem up.

"Sir, I'm not trying to be disrespectful, but I want to know. I've made a commitment to this job and I really feel that I can do this. I was doing an alright job so far and I can't let this one thing stop me."

Bill throws his hands up in surrender and says, "Alright, alright. I see you have passion that's something us old men don't have anymore so I'll tell yah. But listen here, kid. This information is strictly confidential. This is like the deep dark corrupt police officer shit that breaks kids like you. It kills the dream, understand?"

With a gulp, Sam nods back rustling his shaggy hair in the process. Bill sits back up and begins to explain.

"Well the man you saw today at the drug bust was Dean Smith. He's a big drug dealer that everyone knows by the name Winchester. It's like his stage name. Nobody knows what he looks like except for you and this department since he keeps his drug dealing and personal life very separate to the point where people under him do the dealing for him, so it was quite a surprise when I found out he went and reached out to you. Anyways we've tried to catch him before, but since he has no direct ties to any drugs, we can't get him so instead we did something unorthodox."

Bill stops, letting Sam process the new information.

Sam stutters slightly," and by unorthodox, you mean.. Illegal."

"Yes," Bill replies curtly.

A knot forms in Sam's stomach. He realizes Bill was right. This does kill dreams. He didn't know that even the police do illegal things. It ruins the purity of why he came in the first place. He saw cops as saints. He saw the whole precinct as a haven. He realizes that he's been worshipping a false god this whole time.

Sensing Sam's horror, Bill speaks up.

"Don't start getting all depressed now. I'm not even finished yet."

Sam nods and flutters his lashes so that his gaze lowers to the floor.

"We made a deal with Mr. Smith that if he gives us information on other independent drug deals that he could keep his operation going as long as he didn't get his hands dirty too," Bill concludes.

"So you guys are letting him get away with being a confirmed drug dealer ? Sir, this is ridiculous!" Sam protests.

"I know how it sounds, but I never said we aren't still trying to catch him. He could slip up," Bill says in an effort to chide him, but it only makes Sam feel more like some child who doesn't know what he's got into. He can already feel the sneer on Dennis' face at Sam's newfound feeling of defeat.

Thinking for a moment, Sam looks back up at Bill.

"What if," Sam starts, "what if I caught him myself? I mean he's shown an interest in me to go humiliate me like that."

Bill lets out a laugh that stings Sam's hope.

"I like how you use your head, kid, but life doesn't work that way. Mr.Smith is too good to get caught by a amateur."

Sam nods again, hazel eyes looking down.  
Bill gingerly gets up from his chair and puts a hand on Sam's shoulder as a gesture to say he's sorry, then leaves Sam alone in the office. Sam now understands why this place is known for broken hopes and dreams.


	2. Acquaintances

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is short because I am making the third chapter long. I still hope you guys like it! Also, I appreciate the feedback I've been getting so far :)  
> Don't feel bad to leave constructive criticism, too. It actually helps me out lol.

Everyone asks why Sam wants to be a narc, and every time, Sam says it's because he wants to save people. People don't seem to understand that reasoning though. Maybe if his dad had been a cop, people would start understanding. But Sam's dad wasn't a cop and he doesn't want to start lying and saying that he was. Instead, his reasoning comes from the fact that both his mother and father were killed in a gang related incident. Not because they were in a gang, but simply because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time. ‘A drug deal gone wrong’ said the whispers from the adults working on his parents case at the time. Most of all, he remembers crying a lot. Just so much crying that he got lost in tears as well as his hair. A ten year old boy left with nothing. Not even a single goodbye.  
He also remembers a cop with a round face and kind eyes promising that he would find the people responsible. He said that with time, everything would be alright. Sam believed it, still believes it, and everything eventually became ok. A hole is missing in his soul, but he is functioning nonetheless. A dream was born on that day, though. A dream that Sam would help someone, just as that cop helped him. Childish as it might be, a couple of words and a promise kept Sam going 13 years after his parent's death. It landed him where he sits now,in his messy apartment.

I can't let him get away, Sam thinks to himself. 

Thoughts of Dean Smith interrupt every moment he is awake. Dean nags at the back of his skull. The whole scene plays out again and again. The same sense of embarrassment rushes through along with a cluster of all the hateful words Dennis curses at him. Like the detective movie Dean seemed to have popped out from, the movie plays on the back of his eyelids on an endless repeat. Sam knows he has an unfinished duty and that he would catch Dean, who seems to be the bane of his existence. 

Right now, Sam feels so useless looking at Dean Smith's file with no way to find him. The number he had previously used to try and set up the drug deal with Dean was from a generic pay phone number, so he couldn't trace anything there. All he knows about Dean is that he's 28 years old, 175 pounds, about 6'1", with blonde hair, and green eyes according to the file. He's squeaky clean with nothing on him.

With a frustrated sigh, Sam tosses the file onto the glass coffee table in front of him. Feeling powerless, he decides to go waste time at a bar, since he remembers Bill recommending it a while back and maybe his mind would stop thinking altogether if he had a couple of drinks in him. 

Wearing his signature flannel, Sam drives his old Honda to Risky Business down the street. The place is fairly decent looking as he walks inside and is large enough to make his height look less overbearing compared to his surroundings. He makes his way over to a bar stool and asks a young woman with red hair behind the counter for a rum and coke making sure to say his "please" and "thank you's".  
He glances around as the woman starts to make his drink and notices a tall man at the back of the bar with blonde hair wearing all black. 

Alarm bells signal within his head, and he automatically walks swiftly over to the man.

"Dean?" Sam questions with less confidence than he intended. Sure enough, pool stick in hand, Dean turns away from the pool table that Sam had only realized in that moment was there, and gives a playful smile.

"It's Sam isn't it? I asked Bill about you. So, it wasn't a joke. You're actually a narc," Dean toys.

Sam tenses his jaw a little as he suddenly feels awkward confronting Dean as he did. Sam was acting like Dean was his arch-nemesis, but has now resorted to a shy state, trying to hide behind his own hair. 

"You going to stand there like a sore thumb or are you going to play pool with me?" Dean says, resuming playing pool.

"I'll just watch," Sam replies.

Green eyes glance up at him with curiosity then back again to the pool table.

"Well Sammy boy. I heard you're kinda' upset about what happened. Hopefully you didn't get too hurt by the joke," Dean says as he hits one of the billiard balls into a pocket.

Sam is taken back a little by the pet name.

"It's just Sam. And I don't care about the joke anymore," he replies,desperately and unconvincingly trying to hide the slight nerves in his voice.

"Then why are you standing here," he pauses, "Sammy boy." 

He puts a lot of emphasis on the last two words using his deep voice to draw it out. He makes the words "Sammy boy" sound a lot dirtier than it needs to be.

Sam's eyelashes flutter slightly and he replies, "I wanted to know why you bothered contacting me in the first place even though you had that deal with the police and you knew the whole thing would be a failure. It just doesn't make sense."

Dean pauses, glancing up with a harsher glare, then gets up to put the pool stick back.

"Well," he begins, " what can I say. I heard there was a new guy. Young and fresh. Innocent even. Then I saw a picture of you from Bill. Saw that you had a pair of pretty eyes, long hair, and cock sucking lips. Didn't think you'd be this tall, though."

Sam steps back a little, almost shocked about what he said. His voice was thick and it made him sound angry, but the eyes that were boring into him had a fire of lust behind them. Sam is quick to dismiss the comment and assume that it's all apart of Dean’s game.

"What the hell!" Sam whispers at him, still scared that anyone heard what Dean said.

Still eyeing Sam, Dean continues to talk, but now with a devilish smirk on his face.  
"You know it was kinda' cute seeing how embarrassed you were when I gave you the bag of sugar, Sammy boy. I'm just messing with you, you know."

Dean broke their gaze, but Sam isn't convinced that Dean was just messing around. Children are the type to mess around, but Dean is the type to hunt his next prey.

"You swing that way, or something?" Sam manages to spit out as the blonde man picks up the pool cue again and hits two more billiard balls into a pocket.

"I swing both ways. I just like to have more options if you know what I mean, Sammy."

Then, suddenly, Dean goes from sultry sweet nothings to all business within a split second.

"It was nice to chat, but I've got somewhere to be," Dean tuts, turning to walk out of the bar.

"Wait!" Sam pleads, but Dean is already outside the bar, forcing Sam to follow.

Sam catches him before he can get into his Impala and in a desperate attempt to get him to stay Sam says, "I'm gonna' catch you one day! You can't go breaking the law forever!"

Dean shoots an angry glare, and in one motion Dean grabs Sam's wrist and throws him on the hood of the Impala. Before Sam can get up and out of his daze, Dean pins both of his hands above his head. Sam's mind starts to register that Dean is very strong. 

Leaning down close to Sam's face Dean growls, "I just like to see you fucking try."  
And in another swift motion Dean pulls Sam's tall frame off the Impala and towards the pavement. Dean gets in the car and drives off leaving Sam in the dark city night and flushed in the face. Frozen just like the day Sam first met Dean, Sam doesn't move from where he is. He's too busy thinking about how scary Dean really is. Not because of what Sam knows Dean can do, but because of what Sam doesn't know Dean can do. 

After managing to dust himself off, Sam goes back to his car, forgetting about his drink, and drives himself home with an odd feeling of defeat resting heavily on his heart. As he walks into his apartment he thinks about how he is back at square one: left with a desire to catch Dean, but with no means on how to do it. Regardless, Dean has left him with questions with no answers and Sam feels he has no way to properly communicate. Sam understands that Dean is completely unreadable and unpredictable, which, in his mind, allows him to justify his fickle behavior. Unfortunately, Sam also understands that Dean is wiser and more efficient than to be a wild horse for no reason. He wouldn't be a top drug supplier otherwise and Sam knows he should be more careful. Dean has some emotional, physical, or a different sort of reason to hang around Sam other than to just trouble him.  
These thoughts continue to probe through Sam’s head even as he gets into his bed and tries to sleep, but to no avail. The world is just starting to feel a little too big as Sam continues to uncover that things are not what they seem. Assumptions are no longer being taken as truth anymore within Sam's young mind. Something pure can easily be uncovered as vile and corruption is a constant dormant disease unspoken of, but still present, in Sam's new epiphany. At the root of it all, Dean stands as the catalyst for Sam’s unpleasant findings, or, at least that's how Sam thinks of it. As drowsiness ushers in a much needed sleep, Sam still doesn't understand why Dean is the reason everything seems to be wrong or why Dean might be doing all this in the first place.


	3. Contract

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope y'all like it and thanks for reading! :) sorry for the wait, but so y'all know updates will come a week at a time since I'm writing the story as I go.

In the morning, Sam wakes up with a clearer mind than he had had the earlier night. Following his routine ever so methodically, Sam gets ready and out the door making sure he arrives at exactly 7 A.M. at the precinct. It's usually customary to be dampened down by everyone's dreary moods and cold coffee as soon as he walks through the door, but today he feels a strange restlessness that keeps his mind focused, unable to let others’ aura ruin his morning.  
Sam walks through the bustling mess that is supposed to be an office and makes it to his equally disorganized desk. Tapping on the keyboard of his computer, he searches through police files about Dean Smith. Most of the things that pop up are irrelevant tid-bits, but as Sam gets more specific in his research, he finds out that Dean has many people working under him. Many, many people. He could have thousands all working within the west coast area. Accompanied with the discoverance of all these people, Sam also finds out that Dean has drugs laced into a handful of currently used warehouses, and the rest are located either underground or in abandoned storage areas. Of course, all of this information is useless due to the fact that it's not specified where all these drugs are located or who even works for him. Everything is suspiciously vague, probably because of Bill’s assistance.  
Leaning back in his chair, Sam lets out a sigh. If he busts Dean, it might be the biggest catch in his entire life, but the odds are stacked against him. Sam never thought a guy like Bill Walter, the chief of this whole division, would make a deal with a snake like Dean. Bill looks like somebody's grandpa with his dated glasses and round frame. But Sam starts to think that Bill isn't necessarily corrupt, but, rather, he does what is right and not what is in the book.  
Sam gets pulled back into reality when a slam of a hand on his desk startles him.

“Rise and shine, sweetheart,” Dennis mocks.

“What do you want,” Sam begrudgingly says back to him.

“Nothing really, I actually have a job for you,” Dennis shoots back.

A confused look develops on Sam's face. Dennis never offers narc jobs to Sam.

“I know what you're thinking, but this job was such a waste of my precious time that I decided to give it to you.”

“What's the job, though?” Sam asks choosing to ignore Dennis’ passive aggressiveness.

“It's really easy, even a fuck up like you could do it. Girl named Ashley Soto. Pot head that is expecting a moose of a man at around 12 P.M. to sell weed to,” Dennis sneers.

“Wait, so you’ve already set this up without asking?” Sam asks genuinely annoyed.

“Yeah, but I figured it's a petite little girl. It should be easy. And knowing you, you would probably get a bag of oregano,” Dennis says now laughing loudly.

With a stern look on his face, Sam agrees to do the job despite Dennis’ taunts.

“Glad you could do it, boy,” Dennis says to Sam's response while still trying to stop giggling.

Sam ends up spending the next couple of hours researching Dean in vain and another couple of minutes being harassed by the team, either trying to get him to make them a cup of coffee or tease him about the bag of sugar incident.

Five hours felt like five days, then finally it was time to meet this Ashley. Charlie, another narc in the office, gives him the details and wishes him good luck. She is surprisingly nice to him, unlike the rest of the group. He finds it odd that she didn't know anything about the case; even though it wasn't a big one.

Within in 10 minutes, Sam drives his worn out car to, practically, the middle of nowhere. It was simply a patch of dry land, undiscarded trash, and metal scraps, with an abandoned warehouse in the center of it all. Sam parks his car next to a large dumpster and puts a hand cautiously on his gun. As he approaches the large building, Sam notices a fairly new SUV at the other end of the lot. Why would a girl like Ashley need a car like that, Sam thinks as he opens the rusted doors. With a careful step, Sam looks around the dimly lighted building and spots a burly looking man waiting in the middle of the steel fortress.

“Hey!” Sam yells pulling out his gun.

“This is police!” Sam shouts again.

The man turns around making a motion with his hand, like some sort of signal, and the next thing Sam knows is that the gun is being kicked out of his hand and his body is being thrown against a steel wall.

Sam drops like dead weight from the impact. In panic mode, Sam struggles to regain his balance, but two other large men beat him to it, lifting him up. Sam winces and groans out in pain at their rough touch.  
The man he saw when he first entered stands in front of him as the two other men hold both of his arms. Through squinted eyes Sam can barely make out any faces before he is punched again in the gut. Sam cries out feeling an intense pain as more and more punches are being thrown. It takes at least a minute before Sam stops realizing where he is being punched and instead just feels the mind numbing achiness all over. 

Just when Sam's vision starts turning black Sam hears a growl of a voice and the name “Winchester” being thrown out like a threat. As he hears more conversing back and forth, Sam's body goes limp in the mens’ arms. Finally, they release him and Sam slumps to the floor feeling the cold ground numb some of his forming bruises. Sam feels himself laugh a little at how stupid he is. He's so gullible.

“Dennis,” Sam slurs to whoever had saved him, “Dennis did this. It was a trap.”

“Dennis? You seem to get around, don't you, Sammy.”

And out of the corner of Sam's swelling eye he can see Dean. To ensure that Dean doesn't run off again, Sam holds a weak grip on his ankle.  
With his eyes closed, Sam can feel Dean’s breath on his face.

“Look at you. Dennis seems to hate you a lot, then. Your fault though, for being stupid,” Dean says to him. Sam imagines a grimace on his face through his closed eyes, but Sam guesses he's seen a few mangled bodies in his day.

“My house, your house, or the hospital. Pick one, Sammy,” Dean says matter-of-factly.

Sam should be feeling angry at Dennis right now, but with an opportunity to find out about Dean, Sam doesn't care. Sam thinks it's a mistake to Dean to offer to go to his house, so Sam takes advantage of the moment.

“Your house,” Sam croaks out.

“Don't think your slick, Sammy. You ain't gonna’ find anything there,” Dean says coldly.

Once again, Sam feels stupid, he thinks that of course there wouldn't be anything there. 

The pain of Dean jerking him up from the floor abruptly stops any other train of thought. He groans out hoping that Dean would loosen his grip as he drags him outside the building and into his car, but Dean holds on like a leopard who just caught his prey. From the way things are looking from the backseat of the black Impala, Sam believes that he's walking right into another trap. Everything fades to black before he can say anything to the back of Dean's head driving him to god knows where.

Sam wakes up as Dean pulls into a long winding driveway. Sam half expects to see a shack or a simple house, as he gingerly sits up to look out the window. But no, it's no shack and no simple house, instead his sore eyes are greeted by the sight of a large mansion, or at least a mansion compared to Sam's apartment.  
Pain prevents Sam looking any further, so he closes his eyes.

“You alright?” Dean questions.

Sam groans wanting to tell him why did you bring me here or what the hell do you want from me, but no words come out.  
Hearing the sounds of the engine turning off and a car door, Dean gets out to help Sam. Putting an arm around his waist, Dean pulls him outside of car and towards the house. Sam feels uncomfortable touching Dean. The closeness bothers his conscious enough to feel it through the ache. Rather, as Dean walks him inside the house, Sam thinks about Dennis. It takes a lack of empathy to send people to beat someone to the point of blackout. But is Dean any safer? Sam is pressured into believing that he is since he is in his home. If Sam had a tracking device he would leave it here in a heartbeat, but he's just as powerless as he was looking at files. 

By the time Sam feels somewhat settled in on the luxurious couch of a large living room, his body feels stiff and he can already feel the bruises underneath his clothes. Dean comes back into the living room from the kitchen and presents to Sam two pills and a glass of water.

“Advil,” Dean says.

Sam hesitates, not sure wether to believe it's pain meds or some well hidden ecstasy. Dean senses his uneasiness and chuckles, “If I wanted to drug you I could have easily done it any other time.”

Sam nods and takes the pills, not wanting to be a nuisance. Dean hands him the water and he drinks down both pills with a large swig.

“Thanks,” Sam says earnestly.

Dean doesn't reply as Sam puts the water on a coffee table that makes Sam's own look like a joke. 

“Beat you up pretty good didn't they?” dean remarks.

“Yeah, guess they did.”

“It's a shame. You have a nice face and now there's a bruise on it,” Dean teases.

Sam couldn't care less. Dean’s meaningless, backhanded attempts at flirting only further agitate Sam's own pity for himself. No wonder Charlie didn't know about the case, he thinks. He starting to believe that he truly deserves Dennis’ orchestrated assault.  
Tired with these thoughts Sam gets to the point.

“So, why did you bring me here. I know there is something you’re not telling me. You don't seem like the kind to do favors for free.”

“I knew you had some brains somewhere, Sammy. I wanted to play around a little, but looks like you want all the details now.”

Sam just looks on him with a tired expression on his face. 

“You sure you don't want to rest?,” Dean says sarcastically pointing out Sam’s beaten state.

“No, I'm good.”

In reality Sam is anything but good. He feels out of control of the situation, desperately giving Dean the benefit of a doubt before he's even said anything. Sam hopes that maybe this Dean, who helped Sam out, is the Dean he really is. Maybe his previous assumptions were wrong. Maybe Dean is reliable. But these thoughts, a self protecting mechanism for Sam's fragile mind, only fill him with more insecurity.  
And like a stab to his hope, Dean, predictably, reveals a darker side. The side of Dean that is cut like an edge, a ‘no nonsense’ kind of being. As Dean starts talking, Sam starts to see the true person who is behind all the illegal activity.

“Well, ok, Sam. First things first: this isn't no game anymore.”

The bluntness of his tone makes Sam pay very close attention to every word he is saying.

“I came to you because you seemed like the perfect person to be my inside guy within the police. I needed someone not taken seriously by the others, looked down upon, but innocent with loyalty. You are also close with Bill and I need that.”

“B-but I thought you already had a deal with the police. De—”

Dean cuts him off, seemingly uninterested in Sam's concern and surprise.

“Just because I have a deal, doesn't mean I get all the benefits. The guys I have under me are all bound by police law. I needed someone who is close with Bill to help continue the flow of drug trafficking. And luckily for you, you’re such a fuck up that Bill takes pity on you.”

Sam has a hard time processing the information. What Dean is asking for and implying makes Sam sick to his stomach. 

Dean continues, “So, let's make a deal, Sam: Be my inside guy and help get the drugs where they need to be by preventing your buddies from finding it, and, in return, I can give you some of the profit.”

Sam has trouble finding words to reply to that with. The incident with Dennis is nothing compared to what is happening now and Dennis is becoming a smaller threat as Dean keeps explaining. His black eye and sore body are a thing of the past as Dean pressures him further into this risky offer. 

“I— I won't do something like that for money. You’re asking me to go as low as you. I won't do it,” Sam says stumbling on his words.

Without missing a beat Dean replies, “I knew you would say something like that, so how about this. If you catch me slipping or I get caught, you get the credit.”

And for some reason that offer stirs something in Sam's mind. An opportunity to find out more about Dean and even, possibly, stop him from doing what he is doing motivates Sam in an odd way. Sam is even disgusted with himself that the deal looks more appealing with that fact being considered and more importantly it's a deal that doesn't benefit Sam. Dean is most likely assured that he won't get caught, but Sam is intrigued anyways.  
In an effort to combat his own twisted thoughts Sam says in spite, “How do you know I'm not wired right now or recording you. Then you would get arrested anyways and I wouldn't even need this deal.”

Green eyes meet with Sam's own, an angry glare burns through skull as Dean says calmly and slowly, “I'm not a damned idiot Sam.”

“What if I say no,” Sam whispers quickly.

“You can try finding out.” 

Sam sits there for a moment with that last threat fresh in his ears. Everything is happening too fast. He thinks how this isn't fair and how he shouldn't be forced into a corner. All he has is a dream, but it's like Dean came into his life to take what little he has. With a voice as soft as thunder, Dean might as well be the snake who convinced Eve to take a bite of the forbidden apple.  
For some reason, Sam is broken up inside. He has really no idea what he has gotten into, but with no other options, he utters a single word that changes him from an innocent narc to a corrupt individual within a split second.

“Ok,” Sam says as his voice breaks ever so slightly.

As Sam looks up he sees the smile on Dean’s face. It's so cold that it makes Sam shiver. There's no turning back from here.

Back to his teasing state, Dean acts totally joyful.

“I'm happy you complied, Sammy. Didn't want to have beat you up any more,” Dean jokes.

But Sam doesn't laugh. He just sits there completely still while playing with his own hands. An emptiness overwhelms his consciousness.  
Dean notices this and stands up from where he was sitting. He moves to stand in front up Sam and rustles his hair trying to cheer him up.

“Oh come on. This is the easiest part. People do this all the time. No need to act like a damn baby.”

Dean stops messing with his hair and Sam misses the sensation of Dean’s hand, which surprises him. He guesses that with everything broken, his mind needs something to cling onto, and, unfortunately, it's Dean.

“Why are you so miserable?” Dean asks jokingly, but as Sam doesn't reply, Dean sighs.

“Tell you what: you can sleep here for tonight and I'll get you ice for your eye. How does that sound?”

“Ok. No need to talk to me like a kid,” Sam says.

“Well, with the way your acting, I'd thought you'd want me to get you a lollipop.”

Sam puts on a fake smile just so he can get away from Dean and it seems to do the trick. Dean leaves to go back to his kitchen to get Sam some ice. Even with distance between them Dean holds Sam with no chains or ropes, but he still feels suffocated by Dean’s presence. Sam didn't feel this way before, but with the deal sealed, he can't help feeling this way. Sam knows that something has changed. His future has now turned into a big question mark. The more he sits still the more Sam feels something dark inside of him grow for Dean. He is starting to hate him, yet be fearful towards him all at the same time. Another emotion that Sam can't quite place also trembles within his body. And that emotion scares Sam the most, especially since it's for a man like Dean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If there are any mistakes let me know !

**Author's Note:**

> This has been edited, but if there are any mistakes let me know :)  
> Also, sorry for any weird paragraphing.


End file.
